Chapter Twenty-Two
Precious Cargo
Since he lived so close, Tex was the first to arrive.
Lee sent him to help me clean up while Lee did whatever it was that Lee was doing (my guess, searching my house for rope to fashion a noose).
Tex sat me on the toilet seat and cleaned up the blood, put some Neosporin on my cut lip, took me downstairs and got me an ice pack for my swollen eye. He was mostly silent during his ministrations but his mouth was tight and his eyes were shining with what could only be described as controlled hellfire.
For your information, I didn’t look too bad except for the blood down my shirt and rimming my nostrils, my torn lip and my eye which was already bruising. In the grand scheme of things I decided to think of it as “not too bad”.
Even so, after looking at myself, I transferred my sextuple revenge from Dom to Noah, the double extra, loser, rat-bastard.
By the time we got downstairs, Lee had all the lights blazing. I suspected he did this for me since I’d been locked in a pitch black room for however many hours. All I could think was that he was definitely on the very short Good Guy List.
Matt was the second to arrive. He took one look at me and his face got red.
Lee said one word to him, “Focus.”
Matt nodded his head once and then he focused. I could actually see him focus.
Hank and Roxie arrived next. Tears filled Roxie’s eyes when she saw me and she came right up to me and grabbed my hand, holding on tight.
“Thought she might need someone who had been there,” Hank muttered to Lee.
Okay so Hank just earned a place on my Good Guy List too and, as I was being so magnanimous, Matt’s angry red face earned him a place as well.
Tex was already on it.
“How are you doing?” Roxie asked me, leading me to my couch.
“I’m fine. Everyone’s overreacting. This isn’t a big deal. I knew Noah was a jerk, he just proved it irrefutably,” I told her as we sat down.
She looked at Hank but Hank, Lee, Matt and Tex were all looking at me.
“Seriously you guys, this isn’t a big deal. It isn’t as if this is a big surprise. He had already screwed me over once,” I announced.
The door opened, I held my breath thinking it would be Luke but it was Vance.
Then I sucked in breath again when Vance got a look at me and his body went visibly tight.
I feared for my lamps because Vance looked like he definitely wanted to throw one of them (or possibly all of them). Instead he looked at Lee and said something bizarre, “I call a shot and I don’t even care if he’s conscious when I get my turn.”
At this, it was Roxie’s turn to go tight.
“Everyone’s got a fuckin’ shot on this one,” Tex said, sounding pissed off.
“Shit,” Hank muttered under his breath.
“What are they talking about?” I whispered to Roxie as I set my ice bag aside.
“I’ll tell you later,” she answered softly. “Do you want me to get you a drink? Herbal tea or something?”
“I’d love a Fat Tire,” I told her. “I’ll get it,” I got up and asked loudly, “Anyone want a beer?”
Roxie, Tex and the Hot Bunch were all looking at each other but I ignored them and headed toward the kitchen. I could swear I saw Lee’s eyes crinkle in a sexy smile that didn’t quite involve his mouth when I passed him. I didn’t know what that was about but I wasn’t in the mood to ask.
“Just me then,” I said as I hit the kitchen.
When my head was in the fridge, I heard Roxie say, “Maybe she’s in denial.”
“I’m not in denial,” I called into the other room.
“Damn,” Roxie whispered loudly.
I got myself a beer and walked back into the living room taking a long pull. This somewhat hurt my lip (okay, so it hurt my lip a lot) but I powered through it.
When I hit the living room again, Lee came up to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders curling me into his body.
It was then I saw that I got blood on his shirt where I had wiped my face.
“I got blood on your shirt,” I told him.
“Forget it,” he returned. “Look at me, Ava.”
My gaze lifted from his shoulder to his eyes. Close up I could see he had nice eyes, warm, chocolate brown.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You should go upstairs, lie down, talk to Roxie,” he suggested.
“I’m fine.”
Lee looked at Hank. “Maybe we should call Victim’s Assistance.”
“I’m fine,” I repeated, a lot louder and a lot snottier this time.
Lee looked back at me. “Okay, honey. You’re fine,” he said this in the way all men speak when they’re dealing with a stubborn, unreasonable woman. I just stopped myself from rolling my eyes.
Instead I offered, “I’ll clean your shirt. I’m good with stains. I can Shout it out like a pro. If I didn’t go into graphic design, I was going to go into dry cleaning.”